


A Poorer Prospect

by niniblack



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Auguste Lives, Fluff, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: Damianos bows and then says, “Auguste!” before pulling Auguste into a back-slapping hug. When he gets to Laurent he gives a short bow, eyes not leaving Laurent’s face. “Laurent,” he says. His accent is perfect.“No hug for me?” Laurent says.Damianos takes his hand and pulls him forward. There’s no back-slapping, and it’s just Laurent’s imagination that Damianos holds on for a bit longer than appropriate.When he steps back, Laurent gestures to Justine. “My fiancée, Justine of Patras.”She curtsies. Damianos kisses her hand.





	A Poorer Prospect

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-verse AU. The Regent still had Aleron killed, but he was caught before Auguste went to the front to fight Damen and executed for regicide. Auguste is King now.

_"Am I such a poorer prospect than a Patran princess, or a daughter of the Empire?"_

 

“She’s rather pretty,” Auguste says.

Laurent doesn’t look up from on the book in his lap. “Hmm.”

“And your age,” Auguste continues. “Not that that really matters. Just look at me and Céleste. She's not much older than you and that's still worked out rather well. We’re very happy.”

Laurent restrains himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, very happy with one child and another on the way. He keeps his eyes on the book as he says, “You married her because you loved her.”

When he glances up it's to see Auguste standing on the other side of the room, turning a trinket from Laurent’s vanity over in his hands. He looks back down before Auguste can catch him.

“You’ll love her in time,” Auguste says.

Laurent makes a show of turning the page. “Will I?”

“Well, if not then you don’t have to spend much time with her. She can stay at one of the other palaces. Marches, perhaps? Or Acquitart?”

“Acquitart is little more than a fort.”

Auguste walks over and snatches the book from Laurent’s hands.

“Hey!” Laurent reaches for it automatically, but Auguste raises it higher in the air. “This hasn’t been entertaining since I was five,” Laurent tells him.

Auguste laughs, and hands the book back. “You weren’t reading anyway.”

“I was before you came in.”

“You don’t have time to read. You’ve got a banquet to attend with your fiancé.”

Laurent can’t quite keep the scowl off his face.

\---

He’s been trying not to blame the girl. After all, it’s not really her fault that their parents arranged this marriage before either of them could even walk. Her name is Justine and she’s pretty enough, Laurent supposes, for a Patran princess. But he’s not really interested in her looks and so far all she’s done is smile and nod along to everything that’s been said to her. As far as Laurent can tell, she has no personality to speak of. This banquet isn’t doing anything to change his mind. She’s spent the whole time talking with Céleste about babies. Laurent’s niece, Lisette, is a better conversationalist and she’s not even two yet.

He turns to Lisette and offers her one of the orange slices off his plate. She smiles brightly at him and squeezes it in her first instead of eating it, juice dripping down her wrist and onto the sleeve of her dress.

“You’re supposed to eat it,” Laurent tells her. “Oranges are good.”

She holds the crushed orange slice back out to him. “You eat,” she says.

Laurent shakes his head. “Not after you’ve crushed it.”

Lisette drops the orange on the table and says, “Yuck.” She reaches out to him and attempts to wipe her hand on his sleeve. Laurent catches her wrist and dips the end of his napkin into a glass of water and uses it to clean her hand. When he looks up, he catches Justine and Céleste watching him.

“She seems to like you quite a bit,” Justine says.

“Oh, she loves Uncle Lolo,” Céleste says, grinning when Laurent winces at the name. “He gives her sweets when she’s not supposed to have them.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Laurent says.

Lisette stands up on her chair and reaches for Laurent. He swings her around to sit on his lap and she immediately reaches for another orange slice. This one makes it’s way to her mouth and drips juice down her chin.

Justine is giving him a rather considering expression. Laurent hopes she’s not thinking about children they might have.

\---

The wedding guests have been arriving steadily for a week now, and the palace is overrun with all the guests. The only arrivals that require Laurent to be present are those of other royalty, and there’s only one delegation that hasn’t arrived yet.

Even standing across the courtyard and at the top of the steps, Laurent knows it’s Damianos on the horse as soon as the procession comes into view. He’s just as broad across the shoulders as he was last year, when he’d come to Arles to renegotiate some of the trade details of the Treaty of Marlas.

“You didn’t tell me Damianos was coming,” Laurent says, keeping his voice carefully low.

Auguste turns to look at him. “Well they had to send someone, and sending his bastard brother would be an insult. Who were you expecting?”

Laurent doesn’t answer. He clasps his hands behind his back, waiting for the procession to make it’s way to the steps.

Damianos doesn’t stick to protocol, and Laurent’s not surprised in the slightest. Damianos bows and then says, “Auguste!” before pulling Auguste into a back-slapping hug. He kisses Céleste’s hand next. When he gets to Laurent he gives a short bow, eyes not leaving Laurent’s face. “Laurent,” he says. His accent is perfect.

“No hug for me?” Laurent says.

Damianos takes his hand and pulls him forward. There’s no back-slapping, and it’s just Laurent’s imagination that Damianos holds on for a bit longer than appropriate.

When he steps back, Laurent gestures to Justine. “My fiancée, Justine of Patras.”

She curtsies. Damianos kisses her hand as well.

Once the formalities have been commenced with, they make their way back inside. Damianos falls into step with Laurent and says, “It’s good to see you again.”

Laurent keeps his gaze forward as he says, “It’s nice of you to come to my wedding.”

“Are you happy with your fiancée then?”

Justine is still within hearing distance, walking ahead of them. “Of course,” Laurent says.

He can feel Damianos looking at him, but keeps his eyes straight ahead.

\---

Laurent successfully avoids Damianos the next day, aside from dinner where he makes sure to seat himself at the other end of the table. It puts him across from Vannes, who has a smirk on her face that suggests she knows far too much. Justine follows him like a puppy, seating herself next to him.

"I thought you'd want to practice your Akielon while you have someone here to speak with," Vannes comments.

"Why would I do that?"

"Well," she takes a sip of her drink, "you seemed particularly keen on learning it last summer."

"You speak Akielon?" Justine asks.

"A bit," Laurent says.

"Oh, say something then."

Laurent assumes she means for him to say something in Akielon, so he says, "Have you ever had an original thought in your life, or have you always been this dimwitted?"

She doesn't answer his question, of course, but he catches Damianos watching them from further down the table and looks away before they can make eye contact.

"What did you say?" Justine asks.

"Yes, what was it?" Vannes echoes, feigning curiosity.

"A comment about how beautiful you are," Laurent says. He smiles at her, barely a twist of his lips.

Justine looks pleased and Vannes raises an eyebrow.

Laurent turns away from them both and strikes up a conversation with Herode about crop prices in Toutaine.

\---

The next day, Laurent's already settled in for the evening, book open in his lap that he’s only vaguely paying attention. His thoughts are mostly consumed with the wedding that’s happening in two days. First the wedding ceremony in the afternoon and then the celebratory feast and ball followed by consummating the marriage in front of the council.

There’s a new set of clothing done in ivory and gold hanging on the front of his wardrobe. It’s fine material and workmanship, but he feels a twist of revulsion in his gut every time he looks at it.

A knock on the door interrupts his musings. The guard that pokes his head in says, “Princess Lisette is here to see you.”

Laurent frowns, standing up and setting his book aside. Lisette is too young to be wandering around on her own, but it wouldn’t be the first time that she’s escaped from her nanny and gone exploring.

Lisette enters the room, carried in Damianos’ arms. Laurent sucks in a breath, straightening his back. He wishes he weren’t just standing in the middle of the room. He wishes he hadn't undressed already and was wearing more than pants and an undershirt. Wishes he at least had shoes on.

“I found her wandering the halls,” Damianos says, oblivious to Laurent’s discomfort.

“Uncle Lolo!” Lisette shouts, reaching for him. It sounds more like ‘un-ca’ when she says it.

“She likes making everyone chase after her,” Laurent says. He steps forward to take Lisette from Damianos’ arms. It puts them standing right next to each other and Laurent has to tilt his head back to look up at him.

Damianos’ lips quirk up into a smirk. “I can’t imagine where she gets that from.”

Laurent steps back. “I'm sure I don't know what you're insinuating.”

Damianos is still smiling at him.

Laurent turns away, heading towards the door and telling one of the guards to go fetch Lisette’s nanny. In his arms, Lisette has become dead weight, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“How did you even get out of bed?” Laurent asks her.

Lisette yawns in response. “No bed,” she says. “Not sleepy.”

“You're yawning.”

“No I’m not.” She yawns again, rubbing her head against his shoulder.

Damianos laughs.

Laurent points a finger at him. “Don't encourage her.”

Damianos holds up his hands, a gesture of surrender. “I would never, Uncle Lolo.”

Laurent fixes his best withering glare on Damianos, a glare that has reduced other men to whimpering. Damianos just smirks.

Laurent shifts his hold on Lisette. She mumbles sleepily at him but doesn't wake.

“You've been avoiding me,” Damianos says.

“I just saw you at dinner.”

“From the opposite end of the table.”

“I can't help how the seating arrangements wind up.”

“I think you could,” Damianos says, “if you wanted to.”

Laurent looks away, smoothing Lisette’s dress as a reason not to look at Damianos. When he looks at Damianos it feels like his heart starts pounding hard enough for everyone to hear. Like his feelings are written all over his face instead of the careful mask of indifference he's always cultivated.

“Do you really not want to talk with me?” Damianos asks.

Laurent looks up sharply and finds Damianos looking at him imploringly. He hasn't even attempted to hide the hurt in either his tone of voice or his expression.

Laurent swallows hard. “It's not that,” he says.

“What is it then? Do you regret what we had last summer? I'm sorry if I misconstrued anything, I thought you were receptive to--”

“I'm getting _married_ ,” Laurent says, stopping Damianos from going any further. “To a woman,” he adds, for good measure.

“Are you in love with her?”

The question throws Laurent. “What? Of course not.”

Damianos nods. “I didn't think you were, after you called her dimwitted at dinner last night.”

Laurent can feel his face flush. “I didn't--”

“Your Akielon has improved.”

Damianos steps forward, until he’s mere inches away. Laurent can feel the heat radiating off his body. In Akielon Damianos says, “I still want you.”

“I can't…”

“Can't or won't?”

“Damianos,” Laurent says, intending to list all the reasons this is a bad idea. They'd had an enjoyable tryst last summer but that's all it had been. A tryst. Over in a season and not to be repeated. Except Damianos had kept writing to him, letter after letter until Laurent had an entire drawer full of them. He’d written about his duties as heir, his tour with the troops in the east along the Patran border, the way the sunset had painted the fields a gold that didn't even begin to compare to Laurent’s hair, that the clear blue of the sea in the morning made him long to gaze into Laurent’s eyes again.

Love letters.

“Call me Damen,” he says.

Laurent shakes his head. “My wedding is in two days.”

“It's not tonight,” Damen points out. He leans in closer and cups his hand around Laurent’s jaw, tilting his head up before kissing him.

It's just a press of dry lips at first, then Laurent parts his lips and Damen’s tongue is seeking entrance. Damen’s hand slides along Laurent’s jaw back into his hair, fingers tangling the strands.

Damen pulls back just enough to say, “I have missed you so much.”

A knock on the door breaks them apart, Laurent stumbling back a step and clutching Lisette to his chest.

The guard cracks the door open. “The princess’ nanny is here.”

“Perfect timing,” Damen says, grinning cheekily at Laurent.

Laurent shoots him a look to be quiet and heads to the door to hand the sleeping Lisette off to her nanny. He takes a moment to admonish the woman for letting her run off before he closes the door again and turns around, arms no longer full of a child.

Damen is on him in moments, hands at Laurent’s jaw as he pushes him back against the door and seals his mouth over his. Laurent feels a flutter in his stomach as he kisses back, lifting his arms to loop around Damen’s neck. He’s forgotten what this was like, how his body responded to just being kissed by Damen.

Damen’s mouth trails down Laurent’s jaw, kissing his way down to his neck and sucking hard there. Laurent knows he should tell him to stop before he leaves a mark, but tilts his head instead to give him better access.

Damen pulls back, lifting a hand to brush Laurent’s hair aside. “You have a lot of hair,” he says.

“I thought you liked my hair.” Laurent feels a bit breathless, but it doesn't show in his voice.

Damen twirls a strand of it around his finger. “It's longer than last summer.”

“That happens.”

Damen twists his hand into the hair at Laurent’s nape and tilts his head up again to kiss him.

Somehow they make their way across the room, and then Laurent is scooting backwards on the bed while Damen leans over him. Damen tugs at the laces on Laurent’s pants, loosening them before tugging them down over his hips. “This is a lot easier than those jackets you always wear.”

Laurent sits up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side of the bed. He reaches for the pin that holds Damen’s chiton together and pulls it out. The chiton falls to pool around Damen’s hips.

“Your clothing provides easy access as always.”

Damen tosses the fabric over the side of the bed, leaning back over Laurent and nudging him to lay back. Laurent falls against the pillow and reaches up, running his hands up Damen’s arms.

“What do you want?” Damen asks.

“Shouldn't you have asked me that before we were naked in bed?” Laurent runs his nails along Damen’s shoulder lightly, raising goosebumps.

“I'm asking now.”

“I want you,” Laurent says. “Just you.”

“You have me,” Damen says, before kissing him again.

Laurent tries to focus on kissing back, and not on the insidious voice in his head that tells him he doesn't really have Damen. He has a fiancée he doesn't love, that he's supposed to spend the rest of his life with and have children with and create strong military ties between Patras and Vere with.

“Stop thinking so much,” Damen murmurs, lips against Laurent’s throat.

“Make me stop.”

Damen slides down the bed, leaning down to plant a kiss against Laurent’s hip.

Laurent’s already achingly hard, and Damen’s hand wrapping around his cock makes him jerk, hips rising off the bed. He winds his fingers into Damen’s curls, holding on but not pulling.

Damen leans in and his hot breath makes Laurent’s cock jump again. Then he takes it between his lips and Laurent lets his head fall back against the mattress, closing his eyes. His world narrows to sensations. The fine cloth of the bedsheets against his back, Damen’s hand on his thigh, the wet heat of Damen’s mouth around him, the softness of Damen’s hair against his palm.

Damen pulls back after a bit and says, “Do you have oil?”

Laurent’s loath to move, but twists over into his stomach so that he can reach the nightstand, unearthing a small stoppered bottle of oil from within.  He hands it back to Damen and draws his knees up under himself.

Damen smooths a hand over Laurent’s ass, squeezing gently.

Being stared at like this always makes Laurent self-conscious. He nudges Damen with a heel and says, “Stop staring.”

“You're beautiful,” Damen says.

Laurent turns his face into the sheets. He can feel the heat in his cheeks.

When Damen’s hand returns, it’s slick with oil. He works Laurent open slowly, until Laurent can barely stand it anymore. He wants _more_.

Laurent mumbles at Damen to get on with it, face still pressed to the sheets and voice muffled.

“What?”

Laurent turns his face, the air feeling cool on his flushed skin. “I'm ready,” he says again.

Damen twists his fingers, and Laurent can't help the moan that escapes his lips.

Damen pulls back, palm smoothing over Laurent’s thigh. “Turn over,” he says. “I want to see you.”

Damen’s hands on his hips help him flip over with a bounce against the mattress, and Laurent winds up with an arm covering his eyes still. Damen takes hold of his wrist to tug his arm down. “Look at me,” he says.

“Get it on with it,” Laurent tells him, eyes still on the ceiling.

“Not until you look at me.”

“I am looking,” Laurent says, his eyes finally meeting Damen’s.

One of Damen’s hands is spread against Laurent’s thigh, holding his leg up, and the hand on Laurent’s wrist moves until their fingers are twined together, pressed hard into the mattress by Damen’s weight. Laurent feels caught by him, almost trapped. It's not an unpleasant feeling.

Damen keeps staring at him as he pushes in, and it's sheer force of will that keeps Laurent’s eyes open and gaze steady, even as his mouth falls open with a soft gasp he can't hold in.

The first real thrust in makes Damen tilt his head back, eyes falling shut for a long moment. When he opens them again he looks down at Laurent like Laurent is the most precious thing in the world. Like nothing else matters.

While Damen is inside him it feels like nothing else does. This is the only thing in the world, this push and pull of their bodies, beads of sweat dampening Laurent’s skin and a burn in his thighs from straining up to meet each thrust.

“Laurent,” Damen gasps out, his grip on Laurent’s thigh slipping as he falls forward, catching himself with his elbows caving Laurent in.

Laurent clenches down on him, and Damen comes with a full body shudder, his damp curls resting against Laurent’s collarbone.

It takes him a few moments to recover, then he’s rolling to the side and reaching down to take Laurent in hand. It doesn't take much to send Laurent over the edge as well.

They both lay gasping for several minutes, before Laurent feels like his legs are functional again. He scoots closer to the edge of the bed but Damen drags him back with an arm around his waist.

“I'm just going to clean up,” Laurent says, pushing him away.

“Stay,” Damen says.

“I’ll be right back.”

Laurent uses the walk from the bed to the adjacent washroom to try to compose himself, but he still feels like his control has been utterly shattered. When he comes back to find Damen watching him sleepily he feels the little control he’d regained slip through his fingers like sand.

“Sleep with me,” Damen says.

“I just did.”

Damen tugs him back into bed, shifting around until Laurent is tucked against his side, head resting against Damen’s shoulder.

“Your arm will go numb,” Laurent says, even as his body settles and his eyes start to feel heavy.

“Hmm,” Damen says.

Laurent doesn't really hear what he says next, already falling into sleep.

\---

The next night at dinner Laurent is seated next to Auguste. Damen is at the other end of the table. Laurent focuses on the conversations around him, but that doesn't stop Auguste from leaning over to murmur, “Prince Damianos looks like he’s trying to catch your attention.”

Laurent glances over and sure enough, Damen is staring. He has the decency to look away as soon as he realizes Laurent has caught him.

“I can't imagine why,” Laurent says.

“You became quite good friends with him last summer, didn't you?”

Laurent spears a piece of vegetable with his fork. “Acquaintances, perhaps.”

“Well, for acquaintances he speaks very highly of you.”

Before he can stop himself Laurent is asking, “What did he say?”

“He mentioned what a credit you were to the crown,” Auguste says, reaching for his wine. “There might have also been something in there about your unparalleled horsemanship and skill with a sword and unique and unrivaled beauty.” He grins mischievously before taking a drink.

“You're making things up now,” Laurent says.

“Maybe not word for word,” Auguste admits. “But that was the general sentiment.”

Laurent glances back down the table and catches Damen staring again. Laurent looks away first.

\---

Damen comes to Laurent’s room again that night, this time without trying to a find a flimsy excuse.

“The guards will talk,” Laurent tells him, head tilted to the side while Damen presses an open-mouthed kiss against his neck.

“Only amongst themselves.”

Laurent doesn't point out that the discretion practiced by Damen’s own Akielon guards doesn't necessarily extend to Veretians. But he has handpicked his guard for their loyalty, and he knows they won't mention a word, whatever they might think about Prince Damianos coming to Laurent’s room the night before his wedding.

The thought of the wedding makes Laurent stiffen in Damen’s arms, and Damen is quick to notice.

“What’s wrong?”

“What isn't?” Laurent asks, carefully avoiding meeting Damen’s eyes.

“If you don't want--”

“What I want is not to think.”

“Is that all?” Damen asks.

“No,” Laurent says, and then in a moment of brutal honesty, “I want to be someone else.”

Damen makes a questioning noise.

“I don't want to be… me,” Laurent says. “Not when it means all of this. I just want…” He frowns. “It doesn't really matter. I don't know what I'm saying.”

“It matters to me,” Damen says, voice so gentle it does something to Laurent, makes his heart clench.

“Just kiss me,” Laurent says.

“Okay,” Damen says. He cups one hand against Laurent’s jaw, and tilts his face back up.

Laurent’s eyes skitter over Damen’s face before he finally meets his eyes.

“Don't think,” he says, leaning in to kiss him again.

\---

The next morning is a flurry of activity.

Damen slips away at some time in the early hours, brushing a kiss against Laurent’s forehead as he goes. Laurent tries to go back to sleep but can't relax. He finally dozes fitfully, only to be woken by a servant just after dawn.

Someone brings in a breakfast tray and Laurent sits in front of it, picking at the pastries idly until another servant urges him into the bath.

Laurent feels a bit like a doll, being cleaned and dressed by others without any input himself. It's not until he finds himself standing outside the great hall that he starts to feel anything.

Since the feeling that comes is dread mixed with resignation and a vague nausea, he’s not sure the return of emotions is really a good thing.

“Ready?” Auguste asks, approaching from behind him.

Laurent turns towards him, squares his shoulders, and says, “Of course.”

“Then why do you look like you're heading towards an execution instead of a wedding?”

“I do not,” Laurent says. “No one wears white to an execution.”

Auguste brushes non-existent lint from Laurent’s shoulders. His mouth is set into a frown. “If you really don't--”

Laurent cuts him off, not sure he wants to know what Auguste is planning on saying. “Don't what?”

“I don't want to force you into anything.”

“You're the one who said I’d love her in time.”

Auguste is still frowning. “I did,” he says. “But if there’s someone else you’d rather--”

“Who else would there be?”

Auguste doesn't answer, but raises an eyebrow.

Laurent plows on ahead. “It would be a death blow to our alliance with Patras to call it off, especially at this point.”

“‘Death blow’ might be a bit strong,” Auguste says. “I know it’s late, but you haven’t actually married her yet. And Patras is only one of our neighboring countries. There are others.”

“Sorry you don't have more siblings to marry off to them?” Laurent asks.

“Only hoping that I'm marrying you off to the right one.”

“Father had me betrothed to her when I was two. I doubt he’d appreciate me undoing his hard-won alliances on a whim.”

“Father’s been gone a long time,” Auguste says. “He’s not here to care about it.”

Laurent and Auguste are nearly of a height, so Laurent’s able to look his brother square in the eye as he asks, “And you?”

Auguste sighs, brushing at Laurent’s sleeve again. “I want you to be happy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Laurent says, which isn’t the really the same thing.

\---

The ceremony itself is beautiful. The hall is decorated with thick draped fabrics and filled with fragrant flowers. Everyone in attendance is dressed in their best finery. Lisette is so enthusiastic about throwing flower petals down the aisle that she runs out halfway through.

Justine looks beautiful. Her gown flows behind her as she steps up onto the dais at the end of the aisle and takes Laurent’s hands in hers. Her hands are warm against Laurent’s own. Her dress is made from the same fine ivory material as Laurent’s jacket, equally intricate embroidery covering both. They look like a matching pair, aside from her darker complexion.

She gives him a smile, a bit tight around the edges. Laurent smiles back, just as tight, and thinks that he’s probably been unkind to her. None of this is really her fault. She didn’t choose him either. He shouldn’t hold it against her that she seems to be making the best of the arrangement. They are, objectively, a good match. The third daughter of the Patran royal family and the second Prince of Vere. They’re both far enough down in the succession that they’re unlikely to ever rule either country, but joining their families is advantageous for both sides.

He could come to care for her, perhaps. With enough time spent in each other’s company.

He has to fuck her in front of the council this evening.

Laurent realizes that he hasn’t been paying attention to a word the officiant has said and tries to focus.

“Into this union, Prince Laurent of Vere and Princess Justine of Patras now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not be lawfully wed, speak now, or else forever hold your peace.”

The gathered crowd has been silent up until this point, so the murmur that arises seems loud. Laurent looks out to see one person standing up.

Standing by himself, about halfway down the aisle, Damen seems to tower over everyone around him. The man seated next to him is tugging on his chiton sharply, but Damen waves him off. “I have just cause,” he says, voice cutting across the whispered conversations.

Laurent stares at him.

Next to him, Justine whispers, “What the fuck?” in Patran. It’s one of the few Patran phrases Laurent knows.

The officiant splutters, but before he can try to say anything Damen has made his way into the aisle and is walking towards the front. “It was a year ago that I first met Prince Laurent, and since that time I have come to know his heart. He doesn't give of himself freely and I treasure every tender moment we’ve had together. He is brilliant and passionate and true. I love him with all my heart. And I cannot in good conscious stand by while he is married to another.”

Laurent only realizes that he’s been squeezing Justine’s hands when she squeezes back. He tears his eyes away from Damen to look at her.

“Well?” she says.

Laurent has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Well what?”

“Are you going with him?”

Laurent opens his mouth to reply but can’t think of a single thing to say. The crowd around them is silent, waiting for his response. He looks back up to find Damen standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Unless you want me to,” Damen says, with an expression of uncertainty that Laurent has never seen on him before. “Stand aside, that is.”

Laurent doesn’t have to think to know the answer to that. He doesn’t want Damen to stand aside. He wants Damen to come up the rest of the steps and take his hand and drag him away from all this. He wants Damen to take Justine’s place. He wants _Damen_.

His eyes find Auguste, seated in the first row. “Go,” Auguste mouths to him.

Laurent turns back to Justine. “I’m sorry,” he says. He owes her more than that.

She smiles at him, and squeezes his hand before gently disentangling their fingers. “It’s alright,” she says. “Really.”

“I don’t see how it can be.”

Justine shrugs, a tiny movement. “This way my father can’t blame _me_ for breaking off the engagement. If I’m being perfectly honest, you really aren’t my type.”

Laurent can’t help but let out a laugh at that. This whole thing feels surreal. “You’re not mine either,” he says.

Justine looks over at Damen. “Clearly,” she says.

Damen still looks uncertain, watching Justine and Laurent talk, but his face lights up with hope when Laurent takes the first step away from the alter.

When Laurent reaches him, Damen says, “Are you sure?”

“Get me out of here,” Laurent tells him, slipping his hand into Damen’s.

Damen’s grip on his hand is tight as he leads him back down the aisle, past the stunned courtiers. Behind them, Laurent can hear Auguste’s booming voice saying, “Well, looks like we won’t be having a wedding today after all. The feast is still on though, no worries! If you’ll just head that way...”

The doors bang shut behind them, and once they’re alone Laurent pulls Damen to a stop.

“What is--”

Laurent cuts him off with a kiss, fisting a hand tightly around the neck of Damen’s chiton and pulling sharply until their lips meet. Damen’s mouth is still open, and Laurent licks his way inside. When they break apart they’re both gasping for air.

“I love you,” Laurent tells him.

Damen kisses him again.

\---

_One year later_

 

“Uncle Lolo!”

Laurent turns towards the childish yell and is nearly knocked off his feet when Lisette slams into his legs, her arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Hello there,” he says.

Lisette reaches up to him, and Laurent bends to pick her up. She’s nearly twice as big as the last time he saw her. “Uncle Lolo, we saw the  _ocean_ ,” she says, before launching into a long story about the trip from Arles to Ios.

Auguste and Céleste make their way up from the carriages to the top of the steps more sedately, Céleste carrying their youngest. “I see Lisette has filled you in on our travels,” Auguste says.

“I haven’t told him about the pirates yet,” Lisette says.

“That sounds like quite a story,” Laurent says. He shifts Lisette on his hip in order to wrap an arm around Auguste’s shoulders. “It’s good to see you.”

Auguste pounds a fist against Laurent’s back before pulling back. “You too, little brother.”

Céleste brushes a kiss against both of Laurent’s cheeks in greeting. “You look good,” she says. “I don’t know how you stand the heat down here.”

“You get used to it,” Laurent says. “Or so I’ve been told.” So far, he still finds the heat oppressive and the sun strong enough to turn his skin beet red within an hour. Damen insists it’s because he also wears Veretian clothing most of the time.

Laurent leans over to get a better look at the baby in Céleste’s arms. “And this must be Alaric.”

The baby blinks up at him, blue eyes wide. This is the first time Laurent has seen him. He looks like Lisette did at this age, with chubby cheeks and a head full of blonde curls so pale they’re nearly white.

“He can’t really talk yet,” Lisette tells him. “Or walk. Or do much of anything.” She sounds quite put out about it.

“That’s because he’s a baby,” Auguste says. He makes a show of looking around before asking Laurent, “Where’s your fiancé?”

“Held up with his kyros, unfortunately,” Laurent says. “Otherwise he’d be here to greet you as well. He’ll be at dinner.” He sets Lisette down and waves forward one of the servants to lead them inside. “In the meantime, the guest suites are ready for you.”

“Perfect,” Céleste says. “These two both need a nap.”

“No, I don’t,” Lisette insists.

“I meant Alaric and Papa,” Céleste tells her, smirking at Laurent.

Laurent smiles back at her, struck suddenly by how much he’s missed them all.

\---

The wedding the next week is just as lavish as Laurent’s first wedding, but this time his nerves are caused by anticipation rather than dread.

“You look happy,” Auguste says before the ceremony, once more brushing at non-existent lint on Laurent’s jacket. The gesture is parental in a way that Laurent usually protests against. Today it just makes him feel fond.

“I am,” Laurent says.

“I’m glad,” Auguste tells him. He drops his hands back to his sides. “Did I tell you that I heard from King Torgeir? Apparently Justine ran off and married a warrior from Vask.”

Laurent grins at that. “Did she really?”

“His letter sounded rather resigned to it.”

“She did tell me I wasn’t her type,” Laurent says.

Auguste laughs. “This is a much better match for you, I think. Not to mention it helps cement our truce with Akielos, especially once Damianos becomes king.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow at him.

“Not that that matters,” Auguste says.

“Just an added bonus?”

“Exactly.”

Laurent smiles at him, still feeling fond. “Thank you,” he says, reaching forward and drawing Auguste into a hug.

Auguste wraps his arms around him. “For what?” he asks.

“For letting me have this.”

Auguste pulls back, hands settling on Laurent’s shoulders. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says. “I love you.” He uses his hold on Laurent to turn him towards the door. “Now let’s go, before you're late for your second wedding.”

\---

This time, like the last, Laurent doesn’t pay much attention to the officiant. The ceremony is in Akeilon, and when he's not focusing the words just wash right over him.

He's focusing on Damen, who is standing in front of him with the widest smile Laurent has ever seen on his face. Laurent can't keep the answering smile off his own face. He always thought people saying that their wedding was the best day of their life were exaggerating, but now he thinks he understands it. There's something about standing up here in front of everyone and devoting the rest of his life to Damen, and doing it out of love, that gives him a heady feeling.

There's no interruption this time, and it seems like both an eternity and no time at all have passed before the officiant is saying, “And do you, Laurent, take Damianos of Akielos to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?”

Laurent answers Damen’s smile with a wide one of his own. “I do.”


End file.
